


Peace, and Other Matters

by normanrebates



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: I guess this is a oneshot collection now, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-04 12:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/normanrebates/pseuds/normanrebates
Summary: For the record, when they met, Dorian had no idea what he was getting himself into. They were opposites. A Tevinter magister and an unruly elf? Well, this was never going to work, was it?A collection of one-shots of all kinds, none of which are in chronological order, documenting the complex nature of opposites and their infuriating ability to attract.





	1. Peace

The Exalted Plains felt like a broken promise. It was a bite, a bitter blade in his belly when he laid eyes on the worn, broken statues, pale archers against a blackened landscape. Ash on the tongue. This land had once belonged to his people, but it was stolen.

Still, the boon of rediscovering ancient ruins and old treasures was nearly enough. Mahannon's horse pawed at the grass as he sketched the twin archers on either side of the narrow path between the hills while Bull and Dorian bickered about something that only Qunari and Vints could bicker about. Cole had lost interest in the group a while back and went off after a butterfly in a bush. 

"Are you _nearly _done, Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, tearing himself away from the argument. Bull's smirk proved that he'd not only won the fight, but he'd only picked it to get under Dorian's skin. Dorian would be over it in twenty minutes and would be back to picking on Bull once they were back on the road.

"Almost," Mahannon called over his shoulder. He brushed a lock of fire-red hair from his eyes and made a mental note to sharpen the lines when they were camped for the night as he tucked his sketchbook away.

"You're always doodling. You'll have to show me what you can do one day," Dorian said. This was their game. No one knew. Mahannon wanted it to stay that way until Corypheus was dealt with. Dorian claimed to not care, but something told the elf that it was a facade. 

"I'll be sure to do that," he flashed a wink at him, quick as a flash, and climbed back onto his horse.

"Finally!" Bull chuckled, "Cole! We're going!" There was a rustle from the bushes nearby and Cole had all but fallen out of it, brushing his hands against his pants to clean them of invisible dust. The Forder that Cole scrambled onto had been Mahannon's first. He felt bad that everyone else in the inner circle had a horse (or Bronto, in Bull's case), so he'd gifted the chestnut gelding to Cole a few months back. The elf thought of the... boy? He thought of the boy as the closest thing he had to a younger brother. Between talks with his advisors and excursions into the unknown, Mahannon took the time to sit with him in the Herald's Rest. Even if sometimes all he did was sketch while Cole sat motionless in a windowsill for an hour. 

Mahannon nudged his horse forward through the pathway between the towering archers, rolling his shoulders. An ache spread from the base of his neck down to his shoulder blades, dull but persistant. 

"You keep all your tension in your shoulders, Inquisitor," Dorian had told him at one point. He tried not to, but it was hard not to. An entire realm was relying on him. Sometimes all it took to relieve that tension was a well-placed kiss between the shoulder blades. Dorian's arms around his waist. A secret picnic at the top of the ruined tower.

Sometimes the tension just couldn't be tamed.

Mahannon could smell the ozone in the air when they broke from the treeline. A storm was brewing, and he could see it billowing just across the river. 

"Damn," he hissed, a twinge of pain sparking to life in his left palm as he struck the saddle, "We need to camp. This storm's going to hit any minute."

"There was that cave just a little ways up this little stream," Bull called as the wind started to whip up, "We can probably make it and only get a little wet."

"Let's go then," the Inquisitor shot back, "I really don't want to catch ill again."

* * *

They made it to the cave just as the typhoon of rain started to spill. The cave was large enough that they could tie their mounts down just inside the mouth and start a fire deeper inside. Mahannon had fished out his sketchbook again to work on the archers again while Bull dug through the bags for his skinning knife. They'd managed to catch a few rabbits on the way through the forest earlier. Dorian prodded the fire with the end of his staff. Mahannon wondered briefly how he had such control over fire and flame. Any time he tried to harness fire, Mahannon always burned himself. Ice was his strength, even if it left his fingertips and knuckles cold and his joints stiff after a battle. His nose and cheeks were perpetually flushed, and he always felt chilled. Dorian had said, more than once, how even is eyes seemed to frost over when the magic coursed through him. He slid closer to the fire.

Cole was collecting stones in his hat. Mahannon couldn't help but chuckle at his blonde hat-hair. "Come here," he chided. Cole stumbled over obediently and Mahannon straightened his fringe for him with icy fingertips. "Much better,"

"Careful, Lavellan. Baby the kid any more and he's gonna start calling you 'mummy'." Bull teased.

"Please. I'm not the motherly type," Mahannon sighed.

"I like when he does it. It's nice that someone takes care of me like a person, rather than just a tool," Cole breathed. He went back to collecting rocks. Bull finally fished his skinning knife from the bag and whooped in triumph, moving deeper into the cave to clean the rabbits for dinner. Dorian laid his bed roll out beside Lavellan's and sprawled out like a lazy cat. He took the Inquisitor's marked hand for a moment and pressed a kiss to his knuckles when he was sure neither Bull nor Cole was paying attention.

_"I love you,"_ he whispered. Mahannon nudged him gently and smiled so widely that he was sure his face would split. The elf traced the letters out on the back of Dorian's hand:

_I love you more._

He had finished the sketch before Bull finished cooking the Rabbits, and instead was counting how long he and Dorian had been together.

They'd met in Harvestmere of 9:41. Right? Or had it been in Kingsway? If it had been Kingsway then that meant it had been nearly a year. But they really hadn't started... _whatever you'd call this..._ until nearly Haring. Dorian could be somewhat abrasive, and no one knew that better than Mahannon, but in moments like this, stealing a few brief kisses while Bull was outside and Cole was busy with his new rock collection? Mahannon didn't care about the 'abrasiveness'.

Dorian pulled back from him when they heard Bull's heavy steps in the dirt and Cole turned toward them as if it were the first time he'd seen them all day. While they passed around their dinner, Cole spoke up for the first time in a while.

"Dorian, you said I could ask you questions." 

Dorian looked up from the rabbit, confused at first before he realized what Cole was talking about.

"It's true. I did."

Cole shifted on his feet for a moment (he always stood to eat for some reason. He didn't even _need _to eat. He was a strange lad). He picked at his meal for a while, long enough that Mahannon thought he wasn't actually going to ask Dorian anything at all.

"Why are you so angry at your father? He wants to help, and you know he does but..."

Dorian didn't look up from his food this time. "I'm... not certain I can explain it to you."

Cole was quiet again, shifting his weight and chewing thoughtfully, listening. Not to words that were spoken, but words that were felt. Mahannon leaned forward instinctively.

"You love him, but you're angry. They mix together, boiling in the belly until it kneads into a knot." 

It was Dorian's turn to chew thoughtfully. Mahannon's summer-green eyes flashed between the spirit and his fellow mage. He he checked to make sure his spirit-blade hilt was still at his belt just in case he needed to get between them. He didn't think Dorian would get upset at Cole for being curious, but he worried.

"Sometimes..." Dorian's voice broke, and he had to try again, "Sometimes love isn't enough, Cole,"

"But sometimes it is." The spirit said, almost speaking over Dorian, "At the ball. You danced with him on the balcony, where they wouldn't know."

"I didn't dance with my--" Dorian began. Cole shook his head, forgetting the rabbit now.

"Not your father. But him. You do love him, but you're scared. I don't need to be inside your head to know."

"... Who in Andraste's name are you talking about?" Dorian was such a convincing actor, Mahannon almost thought he was just clueless. Cole was pacing now, the way he grew excited about things an almost enviable trait. Bull watched with fascination. He seldom got to see Cole at work as he read someone.

"You've never felt something like this. Like a raw, raw wound in your throat. That's why the Fade scared you. You gave your heart to him and you thought he was gone. He would never go. He's like the sunshine. Always there, bright and brilliant and burning."

"Cole," Mahannon said, crossing the cave to guide him to sit down. But the mercurial little spirit was far from done.

"And you want to tell him so many things, like little presents, but until it's over, you're scared to give the truth out the way you give out helping hands." Mahannon felt that sinking stone in his belly that told him Cole was in his own head now. Every word was a pebble.

"You want him to stop being afraid. But you're afraid too. Why?"

A crack of thunder split the sky, and Mahannon let out a sort of strangled yelp. The cave fell quiet again save the crackling of the fire and the soft hiss of rain outside. He didn't notice the frost clinging to cole's shirtsleeves. He didn't see the way his breath disappeared in a frothy cloud.

"... I don't know why I'm afraid," he said, after making sure his heart wasn't going to backflip out of his throat. Cole eyed him for a moment, intrigued, taking hold of his wrists gently. Dorian watched from across the fire, eyes tight and mouth curled into a small frown. Cole's hands held the same chill his own did.

"Warm. Your hands are marked with ice and Fade, and you're so, so cold. You always have been. Hiding behind jagged words cut by a sharp tongue. Ice sharp enough to split and snare and kill. And then he found you. His hands are warm when they touch your hands, your shoulders, your back. He makes you laugh, and the laughter makes you cry like summer rain. Thawing the frost. You're scared they don't want you to be that way, or that the Maker or Mythal, you don't know which, will be mad. But if he makes the cold go away inside, why should you be scared at all?" Mahannon could feel the pebbles slowly start to lift from his belly. Bull was leaning forward to listen. Cole had never read the Inquisitor before. Maybe that's why it all poured free?

"You wish you had always known him. But then, if you had always known Dorian, would he still feel like sunshine to you the way you feel like sunshine to him? You think it's just luck and good timing, but if the Maker brought you to the Temple, made you take the Mark, then the Maker brought him to you too." Mahannon pulled his hands free and stumbled backward into his bed roll, shaken. Dorian touched his arm but Mahannon shook his head. 

"Holy shit. Krem owes me a hundred gold pieces." Bull said, "I was right!"

"About what?" Dorian snapped.

"That you two were together!" He crossed the cave and scooped each mage into an arm, squeezing. Mahannon was sure he heard his ribs pop, "You two! You're meant to be. Both of you are sarcastic little nits."

"How did you... know?" Dorian asked. Bull released them both, and Mahannon subtly pressed on his sides to make sure all of his ribs were accounted for.

"I saw you two sneak into the barn last week and come back covered in straw." Color shot to Dorian's cheeks, and Mahannon felt his own face grow hot. 

"We didn't mean to--"

"We were originally going to see Blackwall but he wasn't there. Then this one pushed me into the hay." Dorian pouted, "it was only fair I paid him back."

The Inquisitor squirmed a little, jabbing Dorian in the side with his elbow.

Later, when the fire had died down, Dorian pushed their bed rolls together, wrapping himself in blankets to shield against the cold that Mahannon brought with him. The only time Mahannon had ever felt the cold of world around him was when Haven was attacked and he hiked through the Frostbacks for three days. He was sure he couldn't freeze to death, but he was certain he could freeze in place. 

* * *

The next morning, the storm had subsided. Dorian and Mahannon slipped out before Cole and Bull awoke to sit on the boulder by the river.

"Do you think they'll tell anyone?" Dorian asked.

"Not likely," Mahannon said, roughing a new sketch out in his book. Dorian on the rock under the trees. Dorian lobbed a stone into the water, scattering the halla on the opposite bank.

"No, I don't rightly think so, either. And... I don't know. I'm not so worried about it anymore." He draped his arm around the inquisitor's waist, watching him rough out the page, his calloused fingertips catching the elf's chin and guiding him into a kiss. Firecaster's hands. Warm and rough. Mahannon subconsciously compared the chilled, taught skin of his fingers to the calloused and scarred knuckles of Dorian's.

"Mahannon..."

"Hm?" The elf's eyes stayed fixed on his page while Dorian played with his hair. For a while they stayed like that: Mahannon drawing and Dorian pulling his fingers through Mahannon's hair.

Whatever his reason, Dorian never completed the thought. The mages sat on the boulder beside a babbling stream, watching the sunrise melt into the sky. The scent of ash still wafted through the breeze from the ramparts only a few miles away. This part of the Plains felt like a lifetime away, but the stench of smoke and flesh still colored the air even here. But still, it was a feeling they had missed.

Peace.

The last peace they would find for a long, long time.


	2. Outnumbered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing piece following Trespasser where everyone sticks around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to add anything to this, but hey. They needed some closure.
> 
> Loosely inspired by the Dermot Kennedy song of the same name, as well as another song by the same artist titled "Lost." If you don't know his music, I highly recommend him.
> 
> I took a bunch of creative liberties with this, so dont correct me on things. I know what actually happens but I prefer blissful ignorance to the fact that my ragtag family broke up.

Win or loss? Win or loss?

The thought looped through his mind again, buzzing between his ears like a swarm of hornets. His fingers found the latch of the locket, where the little glowing blue crystal hid. He was tempted, truly, to wake Dorian. But he was an ocean away and had his own problems. He would be back, though. He had a few things to take care of, surely, before he came back. One more week.

He flicked his fingers and the lamp on the bedside table lit up. It took more effort through the metal of his new hand, courtesy of Bianca and her absolutely mind-bending inventions. Learning to use his magic through it was like starting from square one, but he was beginning to have some semblance of control. Better than his hand detonating every ten minutes.

Win or loss?

He hadn't admitted to anyone how scared he was. The power that Solas--that Fen'Harel had displayed. Turning Qunari to stone? His heart thundered in his chest at the thought. Would he be aware he was frozen forever in time, or would it be like a candle winking out?

He needed to talk to Dorian.

The crystal lit up with the beat of his heart, levitating a few inches above his palm. It hummed with an unnatural energy, pulsing with pale light.

_"Ah! I was wondering if you were awake. Hello, love."_

He sighed, unaware he'd been holding his breath. Dorian's voice was as soothing as any balm or salve. 

"My love... What are you doing awake?" Mahannon asked, trailing out onto the balcony. He needed the fresh air.

_"I couldn't sleep. One more week, then I'm home for good. Delicious little thought, is it not?"_

"I still can't believe you're leaving behind Tevinter permenantly. What about the Magisterium?" he leaned against the railing, flexing his mechanical hand. No pain. No explosions. No Fade. No fuss.

_"They can kiss my ass, love. I've told you that. How's the rest of our rag-tag little family?"_

"Scared."

Dorian was quiet for a few moments. Mahannon felt his throat grow tight. For over three years now, he'd never showed an ounce of weakness. Now, it poured forth like a flood.

"I am.... I am so, so scared, Dorian."

_"I am too. I... I wish I was there right now."_

"How am I supposed to do this? How are we going to stop this? I'm just one person. I used to think I could do anything if I could face down Corypheus without flinching but now I'm... I'm terrified."

_"What are you afraid of?"_ And it sounded so fucking patronizing. 

"What? What am I afraid of?" He was aware his voice was raising steadily. But he didn't care. Maybe the fact they had never had a real fight before made it worse. But he exploded then, worse than any time the Mark had detonated. Worse than the charges in the mines.

"Where should I start, Dorian? What if we can't stop him? Is that a good start? What if we die trying? What if everyone but you lives? What if everyone but me dies? What if lopping off my damned hand wasn't enough and I explode again? What if, this time, we can't stop it? What if he turns us to stone to put in his fucking perfect-elf-world garden? What if I lose you?" 

Dorian was quiet again. It only upset him further.

"Hadn't you thought of all that?!"

_"Mahannon. Breathe. It's going to be fine. We have fought gods and monsters of all forms. Baldy is going to be a cakewalk compared to Corypheus. I know that you are scared and alone. But I'm here. And I'll be home soon." _Mahannon could almost feel his rough firecaster hands smoothing over his furrowed brow, wiping those scared tears from his cheeks. _"have I ever told you that you are the most chaotic and beautiful thing I have ever seen?"_

"Stop..." The elf murmured.

_"It's true. You're like a... A snowstorm. Beautiful and dangerous. A force you can never beat. And I know that we will stop him. And I know that we'll finally get that happily ever after."_

"Maker's thumbs, Dorian, you know just what to say, don't you?"

"And what to do." Mahannon jumped, nearly dropping the crystal. There he was, all insufferable dark hair and stupid mustache and half his chest hanging out like some lusty maid from a book Cassandra would hide away in her collection.

"You said a week," Mahannon breathed, crossing the balcony in two strides.

"I wanted to surprise you... come here. I don't think I'll be able to let go of you until you dont look so much like a kicked nug." He gathered the elf up into his arms like a paper doll and carried him back to bed, closing the crystal into the locket around Mahannon's neck. 

"I love you," the elf hiccoughed, "Don't leave like that again and then show up all out of nowhere like this. It's infuriating and insufferable of you, and..." he tried to fix Dorian with a sharp green glare, but his image melted beneath the waterfall of tears. 

"Hush. Mahannon, hush now. Everything will be okay. I promise."

"I... I am so lost this time, Dorian. I always have a plan or someone to help me make a plan, but I am so, so very lost. What do I do?"

"You breathe. You let me hold you. You get some sleep. Look at me. You can't fix this running on empty. Minrathous wasn't built in a day, amatus. You cannot fix this when you can't even think straight. I love you. Now please..."

* * *

Mahannon didn't remember his head hitting the pillow. He didn't remember falling asleep. And he certainly didn't remember curling up on a layer of Dorian's robes like a ginger cat.

The first thing he really, properly remembered was Cassandra's startled voice when she trailed into the dining hall that morning.

"Oh! Dorian!... I thought you were coming back next week, not..."

"Someone needed me," Dorian said. Mahannon didn't look up from his plate.

"... Yes. He did," she admitted. For a while they were quiet again, Dorian's warm fingers lacing with Mahannon's cold ones. Though magic was hard to channel through his new hand, daily tasks were as easy as before. Dorian brushed a lock of red hair from the elf's eyes, pausing when he touched his ear.

"... when did you get an earring?"

The question seemed to out of place, so detached from the situation, that Mahannon choked on his breakfast trying not to laugh like a maniac. All this and Dorian was worried about jewelry? When at any moment Fen'Harel could judge the planet unworthy and wipe them all away? And Dorian was worried about an earring. 

"About a month ago? Why? Does it bother you?"

"No. I just... didn't take you for the jewelry type..."

"I wear a women's locket with a magic blue crystal in it that lets me talk to my magister lover. And you think an earring is a bit out of the norm."

Even Cassandra seemed exasperated by the discussion, but she felt the need to laugh anyway. The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Everyone greeted Dorian warmly, save the coolly aloof Mother Giselle, who merely nodded at him.

A sharp phantom pain shot through Mahannon's arm, and he snatched his hand from Dorian's grasp to clutch his wrist. Of course, the mechanical hand felt nothing. At first it had scared him, that it was some sign that the Mark would still kill him, but the surgeon has reassured him that most people felt that same sensation when they lost a limb. It felt nothing like the red-hot-knife sensation that had been the Mark. It throbbed for a moment, then faded.

"Still bothering you?" Dorian asked, "Have you talked to Cole?"

"He's too busy with Maryden. I don't want to trouble him." He was proud of him. Cole had grown so much since they had first met. 

"You should talk to him... I know he still sees you as a brother," Mahannon couldn't fight the smile that touched his lips. 

"Come with me?" Dorian nodded.

* * *

Neither of them seemed to notice they were being watched. But then, even if they had noticed, it would take a mere flick of the wrist to cloud their minds. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to take it as a sign. But... he couldn't. Part of him saw the struggle in Mahannon as weak. But the Dread Wolf still felt the pang of a concerned friend. The red-headed elf was pale and thin, even more so than he had been before. Thoroughly unwell. He chalked it up to lingering compassion, but...

But.

Fen'Harel felt something else too. Besides the tug of heartstrings at watching someone he had once called "friend" struggle to his feet, struggle to eat, struggle to focus. Envy.

But the concern was first and foremost. The concern was most prominent.

* * *

Cole was so happy to see Dorian that he hugged the Vint. 

"You're back! Now things can go back to normal," He chirped like a little bird, "You're still his sunshine, you know. Sunflowers need the sunshine."

"I'm a sunflower now?" Mahannon chuckled.

"Yes. And no. It's complicated. What can I help you with?" He took off his hat and Mahannon instinctively reached out to fix the unruly state of his fringe. 

"At this point, I'll take what help you can give," the elf said gently. Cole nodded once, perching on his chair birdishly. Maryden pressed a kiss to his temple as she walked past, and Mahannon smiled faintly. So happy now. He hoped he made Dorian that happy.

"You're not too bright anymore. The Fade doesnt bleed through your hand anymore. It doesn't make you less, though."

"Are you sure?" Mahannon breathed.

"Or course. You didn't have to have the Mark to be the hero they needed. You saved them, and you're a good person, Mahannon. Even the Wolf admires you. And worries." The elf's brow furrowed.

"You can hear Sol.... Fen'Harel?"

"Yes. He thinks you're poorly. Are you ill? He wants to know. The Wolf doesn't want to hurt us. But he thinks he needs to."

"... I wish I could just speak to him... To make sense to him. Clearly he's just as lost as we are. He feels like this is all his fault. How could he have known?" The elf stood, but Dorian gently pushed him back into his seat. 

"Absolutely not. You're in no shape to go adventuring again. Mahannon, you're..." Dorian trailed off for a moment, "... Not well." Mahannon started to argue, but the concern in Dorian's gaze was palpable, and he dropped it.

"I don't mean now, Dorian. I'm too weak now. Soon, maybe. But not now. Let's go bother Varric or something. This is... This is too much for now." He struggled to his feet again and Dorian let him lean against him for support. Before they turned to say their goodbyes, Cole turned his grey eyes to Dorian.

"It's nothing you did, Dorian. He hasn't slept or ate well since he cut off his hand. But the Fade is gone, and it can't hurt him anymore. It can never hurt him again." 

Only the Wolf saw his eyes fill with relieved tears.

* * *

It was too early to know now if he would be proven wrong, but the Dread Wolf could already feel himself being swayed in the direction of his former friends. How could he cut down lives that had only just begun? Dorian and Mahannon were scarcely 28, though their hardships made them look older. Vivienne and Cassandra and Cullen were a touch older, perhaps 30 or so. Every life so young and so full of potential.

They didn't make it to Varric's little section of their home. Dorian grew concerned about the emaciated elf's wobbly stance and all but carried him up to bed, fussing over him like some mother hen.

He would give them a fighting chance, the Wolf decided. They had once been friends, after all. He turned, taking the form of the six-eyed wolf, and he howled, loping down the mountainside on paws the size of wagon wheels. The game was afoot. Freedom pulled at his fur with the wind. Whomever won the battle of wits shall be dearly rewarded.

* * *

The howl of the wolf pulled a knot in Mahannon's chest. His throat grew a lump, impossible to swallow past. They had been watched. He knew Dorian was back. He knew.

Mahannon did not sleep for another fortnight.

He was here. And he knew.


	3. Looking for Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it even a first date if you've done everything but the first date?
> 
> Also known as: Dorian discovers one of Mahannon's talents for the first time.

Dorian smoothed his hands over his robes for the forty-third time. _Don't overthink it. Any other time, you could count it as being stood up, but this is a unique situation. _First dates didn't often come after fighting for your life, after all. 

It had been that day, hurled through time, that Dorian fell for him. He had never seen a Dalish elf fight before. It was as like watching some ferocious tiger, some wild-eyed animal spitting spells in elvish, calling a storm of ice from the Fade or fixing a demon into place with that bizarre, snarling tongue. 

And when a demon got too close, he wasn't afraid to bash them back with the blunt end of his staff. He was fire-haired and summer-eyed, but he was as fierce as a blizzard. Or an avalanche.

And somehow, that ferocity had _attracted_ Dorian instead of terrifying him. When the last of the demons were little more than a pile of shattered frozen chunks, the chill left him in a frothy cloud of breath. Until the next wave, the next room, the next battle. And when it was all over and they'd taken the keep back, the elf had pulled a blanket around his shoulders and took off back for Haven with barely a word.

It wasn't every day you went on a first date with someone you had already fought multiple battles with. Had already kissed. Had already made love to. He was certain that Mahannon wouldn't consciously stand him up.

Not every aspect of the elf was a caged wildcat. Just the battle aspect. In the war room, he was a level-headed eagle, or perhaps a stoic, clever crow. Sharp-eyed as he commanded spies to manipulate, deployed troops to repair or crush, ordered favors to be used and strings to be pulled.

When he played Wicked Grace or chess, he was a cunning little fennec. He could pick up on the slightest cues, plan three moves ahead, crush just about anyone who played against him. Unless you got a few drinks in him and played for the sole purpose of seeing other players undress. He lost a fair few rounds that evening. Dorian hadn't let his eyes linger too long on his skin when he lost one too many rounds and was down to his underpants and one boot. 

Okay. Battle and the lean coil of muscle. Those were caged wildcat aspects. Most mages were dumpy, ugly little squids. Not Mahannon.

"I am SO sorry," Dorian jumped. Mahannon was a good three feet away, hands folded in front of him, looking every bit like a kicked nug, "we were discussing a plan, and Leliana and Cullen started bickering, and then Josephine joined in, and then I had to come up with a solution, and by the time I saw the time I was already late and I still needed to clean up and I-"

"Hey! It's alright. I knew you wouldn't have left me here for no reason. You're fine... Deep breath. Next time, if you're worried about it, send someone to let me know. I know where to find you if you don't show up. Sit down, then." 

He nodded and sat obediently. Dorian rolled his eyes playfully, taking his hand across the table. The tavern was quiet, only the Chargers and a few soldiers decorating the building. 

"Next time, I'll take you to a nice little place in Val Royeaux. This will have to do for now."

"That's fine, Dorian. You don't have to impress me. Besides. I'm... not really Val-Royeaux-date material."

"Why not? Because of your ears and your... What's it called? The thing on your face."

"Vallaslin. Blood writing. And... Yes. Very much so."

"Did it hurt?"

"What?"

"The Valla... seen?"

"Vallaslin. Yes. But you can't show it, or you're not deemed capable of handling adult responsibilities." Dorian frowned.

"Sounds terrible," he said.

"It wasn't that bad. My mother's vallaslin covers her entire face. I only have this over my eye."

"You never talk about your family..." Dorian trailed off when the barmaid came by with drinks, "Tell me about them?"

"... Well... my father was killed when I was a child. We were attacked, but by whom or what, I don't remember. My mother is a mage too. My sisters, Kalima and Elandra, are still with my clan."

"Is your mother still alive?"

"Yes. She sent me a letter just this morning. I told her about you. Now I have to draw you."

"... Excuse me?"

"Well, she wants to know what you look like. I'm... she thinks I'm a halfway decent artist." The elf dropped his gaze to the table, cheeks darkening.

"Well, what the fuck are we doing sitting around? Show me!" 

"Oh, Mythal's ears, no, Dorian--"

"I insist! Come along!" He pulled the elf from his seat, tossing a handful of gold coins on the table to cover the cost of the untouched ale.

In retrospect, that was a great way to get the Inquisitor into his bedroom. He'd have to use it again sometime. The elf was still red-faced as he pulled a stack of papers and parchments from a drawer in his desk. He passed them wordlessly to Dorian, and the Tevinter grinned as he began flipping through them. Horses. The war council. Cole in his windowsill at the tavern. The view from the balcony. A new design for the windows. The Breach. A pair of Halla by a stream.

One stack was just plants and animals, technical in nature and meticulously labelled. One was a stack of older pieces on vellum, the aravels, the Keeper, the Halla herders, his sisters and mother-the vallaslin really did cover most of her face. Still another one was a pile of dragons, heads and claws and wings and teeth.

Another stack was portraits. A few of Cassandra. One of Bull, half finished because he couldn't get the horns right. Many of Dorian. 

Very, very many of Dorian.

"Looks like you've already drawn me plenty of times, Mahannon," he teased.

"I can't just mail those to her."

Dorian rolled his eyes playfully, reaching for a folded scrap of paper atop a stack of folded drawings. Why were these concealed?

"Don't! Not... Not that one." Mahannon snatched his wrist, his whole face as red as a beet, while he tried to desperately gather up the stack with his other hand. Dorian smirked, pulling his arm from Mahannon's grasp.

"Sorry, love, I have to see it now."

"No!" The elf wailed, covering his face and trying his very hardest to vanish into the floorboards. Dorian unfolded the page and cackled.

"When did you draw this? From memory? Maker's toes, am I really this chiseled? Though I have to say I'm not quite that well-endowed," he handed the drawing back to Mahannon, who took it and tucked it back into the stack, mumbling to himself.

"What was that?"

"I... I said you wouldn't know. That's all. You wouldn't know until you'd--"

"Point taken, Inquisitor." Mahannon sat at the foot of his bed, still red-faced, "Well, we're in your bedroom. What would you like to do now?"

"Besides sink into the floor?... I don't know. I'd love a distraction..."

"I can do distractions," Dorian pulled him into a kiss, fingertips tracing the cool skin of his cheek.

"And you won't go blabbing about that, will you?"

"Absolutely not. But I would like to see the others."

"And if they aren't all of you?"

"Please. I know you, amatus, they're all of me." The elf swallowed thickly, clearing his throat. 

"Um... Not... Exactly. Though I swear that you're the only one I know from... Er... Personal experience." Dorian's brows shot up, and the elf his his face again.

"Who else have you drawn pornography of?!" He balked, grasping the stack and flipping through it. He wasn't angry. More curious and confused than anything else. The elf sighed gently, a mix of mortification and sadness.

"Before I met you, there was another elf. From the Ghilain clan. I was a stupid child at the time. It didn't end all pretty and peaceful." 

"Did he...?"

"Die? Oh no. I would consider myself lucky had he died. No, he... Well, that's a story for another time." He briskly plucked up the drawings and tucked them back into the desk, stepping out onto the balcony and twisting his long red hair around his fingers, "He did things purely to hurt me. He..."

"You don't have to tell me, amatus. But it sounds like enough to make you concerned about the future. Our future. It's..."

"Stop. You're just talking to fill the quiet. What's done is done. He hurt me. End of story." It clicked into place then.

"Your eye. That scar. Did he do that?" Mahannon pulled away from Dorian's grasp and leaned against the bannister.

"Among other things, yes. He was a rude, forceful little shit. He couldn't fathom rejection. I think he's a sociopath, personally, but I haven't seen him since he... Attacked me. Which is good, I suppose." 

"I think I know what happened. You've... You've said enough. Maker's breath... we're just two very damaged peas in a pod, then, aren't we? I... realize now why you don't like when I touch your back without warning. Thought it was a quirk of character."

"It was a long time ago," Mahannon said, brushing his hair behind his ear, "Cole's a sort of therapist, you know. I've gotten even better at looking past it thanks to him."

"If you ever need to actually talk about it, you know you can come to me. Cole may be a therapist but I'm an actual human person."

"No shit," Mahannon smiled despite himself, looping his arms around Dorian's waist. He pressed his cheek to his chest and listened to the mage's heartbeat, slow and steady. He smelled like a mix of clove and smoke, in just the right amounts that it made his knees weak.

"Come then. We should go to bed." Dorian's voice thundered through his chest. 

This wasn't a half bad 'first date' after all.


End file.
